


I will not ask, and neither should you

by nupoxsi



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Wives No Kids, Angst, Emotional Hurt, M/M, Not Happy, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 21:59:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4322310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nupoxsi/pseuds/nupoxsi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Acceptance is hard, Philipp knows that better than anyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I will not ask, and neither should you

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I can still write football fics, who would've imagined.
> 
> Disclaimer: this never happened, it's all fiction. This work hasn't been beta read by anyone, so all typos and such are my own. Title comes from Hozier's [Like Real People Do](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VlJBDeI3fjc).

It started a day ago with a phone call Philipp never wanted to pick up in the first place. He regrets answering it now, when his phone hasn’t stopped buzzing with notifications and text messages he doesn’t really want to read. Some of them are variations of ‘did Bastian tell you why’ or ‘when did Bastian take that decision’. Some others are from teammates, asking him how he feels about it. Philipp doesn’t even know how to respond, and not only because Bastian’s decisions are none of his business, but because he truly doesn’t know the answer to any of those questions.

The thing that hurts him the most is that it wasn’t Bastian the one who called him that night. It was actually Philipp’s agent, Roman, who supposedly spoke with Bastian’s after Philipp gave an interview in which he stated he didn’t want to see Bastian leaving. The phone call didn’t last more than five minutes, though the cards had been set on the table for Philipp to read. There was nothing left for him to know about. That was last night, almost twenty-four hours have passed by, and Philipp hasn’t gotten any phone call for Bastian. In fact, his friend hasn’t even bothered texting him, not even after all this time. That’s what hurts him, perhaps more than the empty space Bastian will leave in his life.

When the light turns green, Philipp takes a left turn and keeps driving for another five blocks. He knows the way to the other’s place by heart, and it’s hard to believe it’s going to be one of the last times he’ll be driving for that very street. The breeze feels warm against his face whilst he drives down the street with rolled-down windows. He passes by some houses and several trees, though he doesn’t really spot anyone on the streets. His eyes shift for a brief moment to the car dashboard. It’s nine past ten already, quite late for an evening visit. Though that’s the last of his worries. Bastian usually goes to bed after midnight, anyway.

Three minutes later, Philipp finally spots the house. Parking in the driveaway comes natural for him, something he’s been doing for ages. Before his friend moved to this house —slightly bigger, not as fancy as most would think—,  Philipp also visited him around three times a week, unless they were on holidays or. He didn’t know why, but the constant through the years has been hanging out at Bastian’s rather than at his place. It’s always been pleasant, though. Bastian is an incredible host.

He gets out of the car, taking he keys off the ignition. Out of mere instinct, he takes a look at his reflection on one of the windows of the car. A faint shadow covers the bottom half of his face. His hair is in place, the black jersey he wears matches his shoes. It’s the way he usually looks, and that’s alright. Not too casual, but not too informal either. At least he hasn’t allowed his emotions to fuck his way of functioning. He’s had enough of that in the past.

Philipp walks until he’s standing by the front door. It’s not until he is so close to Bastian that anxiety finally hits him. His stomach twitches, and he feels like throwing up. Where has his courage gone? Where is his will to face Bastian and demand an explanation? Does he even deserve one? One must think he does, after so many years of friendship, after so many years of loving someone so unconditionally. Philipp has been there for him during all the highs and all the lows. Hell, Philipp was even there for him when Bastian was heartbroken by Lukas leaving to Arsenal. He supported him, he cheered him up, he hugged him until everything felt better again. And now, now it’s Bastian who’s leaving, and there is no one there to do the same for Philipp.

They have been on the bottom of the world, wiping each other’s tears off, but they’ve also reached the highest they could get. They have been on the top of the world together, and Philipp knows nothing will ever feel like that again. Even if he gets to win everything there is to win again— things won’t ever be the same. Not without Bastian by his side.

He rings the doorbell, eyes fixed on the black rectangular carpet, and before he can even regret ringing, the door opens.

From the inside of the place, Bastian emerges. Philipp’s gaze slowly moves upwards. The first thing he notices is the way his friend is dressed; white loosen shirt, dark jeans and sneakers, which confirms the assumption of Bastian still being awake. Then, Philipp lets his eyes set on his face. That gorgeous face. Their eyes meet, and Bastian’s expression softens. He smiles, the bright light coming from the ceiling illuminating his features.

“Hi, Basti.”

“Philipp, hey,” he speaks, voice ever so smooth. “Come on in!”

One of his hands sets on Philipp’s shoulder, drawing him into the house. He allows him to, keenly accepting the kind welcome. The inside of the house is cooler, the air conditioner on. Philipp takes some steps in, catching Bastian’s movements out of the corner of his eye. He closes the door before clasping his hands together and turning to face Philipp. He steps dangerously close to him, and Philipp can’t control the nervousness growing in his insides.

“I hope it’s fine I’m here.”

“Yes, of course— just—”

Bastian’s arms immediately envelop him into a tight hug. Philipp wishes he could pull away, because God, how it hurts him to be so warmly welcomed by someone who has hurt him so deeply. But he can’t. He can’t pull away from the person he loves to the moon and beyond. His arms loop on Bastian’s torso, and his face presses against the front of his shirt. The scent of his cologne is practically overwhelming.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” Bastian mumbles, giggling after saying the words. “You could’ve done it over the phone, so I could’ve fixed something for us.”

“It’s alright. I’m not that hungry.”

The hug lasts for some more seconds, until Philipp feels it’s been enough and retrieves his arms off Bastian. The tallest man keeps him in place for a little longer, though Philipp doesn’t know how to interpret the motion. How can he hold him for some additional seconds when he’s thrown everything away without even informing him first?

There is no answer, and even if there was, Philipp doesn’t know whether he’d like it to hear it or not. _Probably not_ , he figures, _it’s better like this_. It might help him ease some of his worries, but his heart would probably break if he knew the reason behind Bastian’s actions. He knows as much. Some say the cure is worse than the disease, after all.

“If you’re not letting me make something for us, then let me at least pour you a glass of wine.”

“There’s no need to—”

“Of course there’s need to,” Bastian interrupts. His grey eyes gleam, and it’s then when he realises what his friend means. There is something to drink wine for, there’s a reason for Bastian to celebrate. He’s moving to Manchester United, and Philipp should be happy for him. “So tell me, red or white?”

Philipp hesitates for some seconds, but he still replies. “Red. Not much.”

As response, Bastian gives him a small nod. He also winks, a motion that makes Philipp want to cry all of the sudden. It’s quite customary for them to wink at each other in the distance, when they’re not close on the pitch. It’s a mute way of mutual agreement, leaving aside the fact of how beautiful Bastian looks when he winks, a smirk always playing on his lips.

“Come,” he encourages, tilting his head in direction of the kitchen. “Make yourself home.”

Philipp knows he means those words— he’s meant them several times in the past, but now they feel hollow, just as the pitch of his stomach. In spite of this, Philipp follows him suit. His eyes set on Bastian’s back, noticing how his shoulder blades move as he walks.

Once in the kitchen, Philipp sits by one of the large stools by the kitchen aisle. His gaze follows Bastian’s every move like a trained dog. He wants himself to stop, but he feels so anxious. He doesn’t know when it will be the next time he’ll be able to do this, just swing by Bastian’s place and watch him pour them two glasses of wine. There’s noise coming from the living room— the TV is most likely turned on, and Philipp suddenly wonders if there’s someone else home.

“Are you alone?” He wonders out loud, mostly because he has to know. There are no intentions to interrupt Bastian if he has someone over, even if it’s Tobias.

“Yeah,” Bastian is soon to reply, turning his head after he opens the bottle of wine. “Thomas passed by in the afternoon, but he only came to give me a pretzel.”

“A pretzel?”

“A cinnamon pretzel. I don’t even know why, but it’s Thomas. I guess it’s his way of wishing good luck.”

Philipp chuckles, in spite of the hollowness in his insides. “I guess you’re right.”

“Oh, I am right. He literally drove over here just to give me a pretzel, and then he was gone.” Bastian moves close again, placing the two empty glasses on top of the kitchen aisle. “But then again, I don’t know what else I could’ve expected from him,” he utters, pouring wine on the glasses. “A pretzel is more than enough.”

Not knowing how to respond, Philipp decides to remain quiet. He doesn’t even comment on how he only wanted half a glass of wine when Bastian fills both glasses to their full. It’s not that he doesn’t like wine, he’s just afraid his stomach will succumb to the nervousness and he’ll end up throwing up. Apparently, Bastian notices it, because once Philipp meets his gaze, he finds him with a furrowed brow.

“Are you okay?” Bastian asks, handing him one of the glasses.

“Thank you. And yeah,” he lies. “Why do you ask?”

“You usually call before showing up. It’s weird.”

“Uh, yeah.”

How can Philipp explain he’s the one who has been waiting for a phone call for a day? Or a text message— even an email. Something to make him know he’s important to him, that he matters, that he will be missed once Bastian parts to England. Perhaps it’s too much to ask for, given how fast news travel these days, but Philipp hoped to hear everything from Bastian’s mouth rather than third parties.

“Are you sure there’s nothing troubling you?”

He takes a deep breath. “And what if there is? ”

“Then I would like to know. I’m your friend, I would like to know what’s making you feel so bad.”

Maybe he should keep quiet. No good things come from fighting and being on the verge of tears. But it’s hard to keep himself at ease when Bastian acts like this, as if there is nothing relevant to talk about. He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a sip from the wine. The bittersweet alcohol slides down his throat, giving him the little push he needs to speak.

“It’s you, Bastian. You didn’t call me,” Philipp finally bursts out, feeling his stomach burning while he speaks. After saying that rather loudly, he has to look away. The grey gaze is penetrating, and he can’t stare at it for too long. “It’s you. You didn’t call me, you didn’t text me— you didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t,” Bastian simply replies.

“No, you didn’t. And I won’t ask why,” he continues, idly stroking the neck of the cup. “I won’t. But don’t you dare ask me why I’m feeling this bad.”

There’s a brief moment of silence between them. Philipp can’t look at him, not if he wants to keep his emotions at ease. He doesn’t want to raise his voice again, he isn’t that type of person. The last time he shouted at Bastian was when there was a trophy being held by his hands and there was nothing but joy in their voices. This time isn’t worth it.

“That’s fair enough for the two of us,” Bastian replies after a while. His voice is also calm, controlled. How is he so professional at keeping his cool? Philipp can’t quite understand. “Especially when you didn’t tell me either.”

It catches Philipp with his guard down. “Tell you about what?”

“About your retirement from the National Team. You didn’t tell me.”

He blinks. Bastian can’t bring this up.

“That isn’t the same.”

“Of course it is the same. It’s a decision that did not only affect you. You were the captain.”

“And you think your move to Manchester United only affects you?”

“It is a personal decision, Philipp. You’ve said so yourself, haven’t you?”

Philipp meets his eyes for a second. Of course Bastian knows about his interview, who hasn’t read or heard it by now? It was hard for him to give a professional opinion on something that matters so much to him. Not only it affects him on a businesslike manner, but it plays a huge part on the way he feels, too. It leaves him with an empty spot on the field, and also an empty spot on his heart.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Jesus, Bastian. Can we not fight?” He pleads with a weak voice, drinking from his glass of wine. “I’d really hate to have us fighting over this.”

“We’re not fighting, we never do that.”

“I suppose there’s always a first time for everything.”

Bastian chuckles. “Well, but not for us fighting. It’s not happening.”

Philipp drinks what’s left of wine on his glass. The way Bastian tries to deny the undeniable makes Philipp chuckle, too. They are fighting, in their own way. But it’s either this or watch him leave without saying a single thing about it. Bastian couldn’t have thought Philipp was actually going to do that, right? Because that’s not in him. He owns the skill of bottling up his emotions in order to spare Bastian the pain (even when he’s certain Bastian knows the way he feels about him), but he can’t stay in his house and wait for it to happen.

“Don’t tell me you want to say goodbye. There is no need to say goodbye,” Bastian tells him. There’s something in his voice that forces Philipp to look at him. “I’ll still be here.”

“Bastian…”

“I mean it.” In a sudden motion, Bastian stands from his stool. He walks closer to one of the cabinets, swift steps that echo through the place, and he comes back with a new bottle of red wine. “I’ll always be calling you, and I’ll text you daily. I won’t be gone.”

“Sure, you’ll be gone. You won’t come back.”

“Of course I’ll come back.” He moves closer to him, filling the glass with the alcoholic drink. “I haven’t forgotten about our promise, Philipp.”

At the mention of that, Philipp’s eyes suddenly get crowded with tears. As if the situation isn’t overwhelming enough, Bastian has to mention that. He huffs, looking up so the tears would go away. What aches him the most is that there’s no way of knowing whether he means it or not. Bastian is a wonderful person, but decisions like this— moving to United without even telling Philipp about it, are likely to lead them to never playing for the same team again. And it hurts him.

“You don’t have to live up to that promise.”

“But I want to. I still want to retire at Bayern.”

“I’m older than you,” Philipp reminds him. “And my physical condition isn’t as good as yours. I will be retiring sooner than you, Bastian. It’s a fact.”

“It’s only a fact if you want it to be,” he says with a calm tone, one that makes him doubt of his own beliefs. “I’m not asking you to wait for me— my future is uncertain. You know how things are in football. But I want to retire in the club that gave me everything, and it would be nice if the person who has shared all those experiences with me would be there, too.”

“Lukas?”

“Don’t be sarcastic, Philipp. You are the one who has played by my side for sixteen years.”

“And it’s finally come to an end,” Philipp finishes the sentence for him. He studies his face, looking for regret, but he isn’t able to spot it. Instead, he finds calmness in those blue irises. “Don’t deny it.”

The silence feels heavy between them, but it’s necessary. At least for Philipp, it is. He doesn’t want to keep listening to excuses, he isn’t asking for them. Bastian knows van Gaal already, they’ve worked together in the past, and if he truly wants to try to fit in into his new way of playing, then he should be allowed to experiment. Philipp understands as much. Though his understanding doesn’t mean he’s close to accepting it.

“I can’t say I’m sorry,” Bastian eventually comments.

“I’m not asking you to do that.”

“Then why are you here?”

Philipp swallows a sip of wine to force himself to speak up. “Because I’m going to miss you.”

What leaves his mouth is but a mere whisper. The words are short and mumbled, but he knows Bastian catches them the same. He can tell by the way the penetrating grey gaze is fixed on him, by how he feels the other man getting back to his feet and walking closer to him. Philipp thought it would be clear for Bastian— he’s going to miss him an awful lot, it’s not much of a secret. But saying it out loud seems to have clicked something in his friend.

Bastian makes him stand from the stool. The two empty glasses of wine stay on the kitchen aisle, forgotten by the two. Without warning, Bastian pulls him into a hug. His arms wrap on Philipp’s shoulders with such finesse that the motion takes Philipp’s breath away. He doesn’t want another hug, he wants things to change, he wants Bastian to reply to his feelings, he wants Bastian to stay. But that isn’t going to happen.

Instead, he reciprocates the hug, weakly looping his arms around Bastian and holding onto him. He presses his face against his chest, and he’s able to hear the calming sound of his heartbeat.

“I will always be here,” Bastian whispers, and even though Philipp wants to believe in his words, he knows they’re not real.

He knows that as much as he can ask from Bastian, as much as their friendship allows them to go, there isn’t anything that actually forces Bastian to be there for Philipp. He’s not Lukas, someone who has shared more than just a close friendship with him, anyway. Philipp is just Philipp, and in spite of his own words, of his own desires, he knows that if Bastian tells him he’ll be back, Philipp will be waiting for him.

Philipp closes his eyes, pressing his nose to Bastian’s shirt. He inhales the scent of his cologne, and refuses to cry.

He will truly miss him.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always appreciated, especially after a long time ♥ (And I will probably read this in the morning to fix typos and grammar mistakes).


End file.
